Almost three years ago, I started an infertility support group in my area with the help of a fellow blogger. Our group was a small one– just a core group of four, with another who attended a couple of our dinners, and a few others flitting around the edges. Lord did we have fun. We got together each month (or at least tried to) for Mexican food and friendship and a ridiculous amount of laughter.
One of us, J, was newly pregnant when we began our get togethers, and is now the mommy of two deliciously beautiful little girls.
Another, B, became a mommy soon after, adopting her darling son through the foster system. His sister followed a few months ago after a successful pregnancy through ART. Two words: Gerber baby . . . . . . except maybe cuter.
Yet another, K, has two sons. I have chosen to “lose touch” with her for several reasons, but I am imagining that the boys are healthy and happy little guys.
And just a couple of weeks ago, our final member, S had a son. All babies are cute but DANG, that is one cute boy!
So that leaves me.
I’ve drifted away from the girls a little bit over the last year, and not for the reasons you might imagine. It’s not because it’s too difficult for me to see their pregnant bellies or because I feel uncomfortable with their mommy talk. My world is filled with plenty of pregnant bellies and mommy talk.
The reason why is summed up pretty well by a conversation I had with B in the early spring. We were talking about S’s newly-announced pregnancy and B said, “Of everyone, she was most apprehensive about telling you.”
I wasn’t hurt or saddened by H’s pregnancy announcement. I was thrilled for her and her husband – that after years of pain, their dream of expanding their family was coming true. I adore H – we clicked from the beginning and though we haven’t spent a lot of time together, she is one of my very favorite people.
The punch to my stomach was hearing that she didn’t want to tell me.
(By the way, B would NEVER do or say anything that she knew would be hurtful. She is generous and loving. I’m sure it just never occurred to her how that information would land in my world.)
I understand S's apprehension. I really do. She was worried about how I’d take the news because she cares about me.
Yet I still didn’t know what to do with that information. I still don’t.
Does my life look exactly like I want it to? Like I thought it would? No, though a lot of my life looks much better than I ever could have imagined.
Do I sometimes wish we’d started “trying” to have a baby sooner, or that we’d met ten years earlier. Sure.
Do I wish there was a child running around our house calling me “mom”? Sometimes I do, though not as often as I used to.
When I was in the throes of IF treatment, I was sad and wistful and somewhat fixated on having a child. I didn’t know who I’d be if I wasn't a mom. That’s what I’d always thought I’d be.
I’ve come a long way in the past months. I am FAR from having it all figured out, but I'm getting there.
When I say that I’m not sure I want to have a child, it’s not a defense mechanism, no matter what others may think. That’s how I really feel.
When I say that I’ve made peace with my infertility, I really have, believe it or not. Not every day is perfect. I do have my moments. But instead of having those moments every day or even every week, they seem to come every few months now.
I don’t need to be treated differently because I’m infertile and don’t have kids. I don’t need people to guard their words around me or be “afraid” to tell me things. I don’t need sympathy. I just need to be treated like they’d treat all the rest of their friends and not singled out for some imagined emotional handicap.
Hopefully I'll figure out what to do with the weirdness I feel about this situation and put it behind me. I am clear this is a "me" problem and that there is nothing for anyone else to do about it.
But all in all, when I look back on our infertility support group, I feel a sense of accomplishment – that I helped create something that made a very painful time in all our lives a little easier to live through. I really love and care about those girls and now their children. I know just how much each one of those babies was wanted, and I can’t wait to see the little people they become.
Click.
